Real Violence vs. "Real" Violence

I don't think a film has let me down like Hi, Mom! has since A Clockwork Orange? I might be exaggerating, but there are striking similarities: both are ostensible satires/dark comedies that I found to be largely (Hi, Mom!) or fully unfunny (A Clockwork Orange). While A Clockwork Orange and its entire worldview just turns me completely off, Hi, Mom!  is unpleasant in a different way. Towards the end of the justly but worryingly lauded "Be Black, Baby" sequence, the audience actors seem to be genuinely in pain. For me personally, violence that actually happens while portrayed on screen doesn't really bother me at all (e.g. the buffalo in Apocalypse Now or someone being slapped on-screen); I guess I feel at a remove, as it feels mostly undistinguishable from the fake gore. But the audience seems fundamentally unwilling to participate; I was first annoyed, and then incredibly unnerved as the audience was actually beaten and made to fear for their lives. It is true that it is a vital part of the black experience, but it is also not; no one is thrown into it; they live and grow up in it, and it feels as if the revolutionary actors misunderstand this. It scared me to see that violence; it felt real.

Top Ten Mann Performances

1. Russell Crowe, The Insider
2. William Petersen, Manhunter
3. Christian Bale, Public Enemies
4. Robert De Niro, Heat
5. Chris Hemsworth, Blackhat
6. Will Smith, Ali
7. Al Pacino, Heat
8. Marion Cotillard, Public Enemies
9. Tang Wei, Blackhat
10. James Caan, Thief

De Palma Anticipation Rankings

Purely for my own amusement, I'll be listing and ranking the films for each marathon by how excited I am to see all of them (tiered, not strict rankings). Of course, I'm already halfway through De Palma but I'll try my best.

Must see as soon as possible:
Phantom of the Paradise
Carrie
Blow Out
Body Double
Carlito's Way
Femme Fatale
Passion

Immensely interested:
Sisters
Dressed to Kill
Scarface

More than a little curious:
Obsession
The Fury
The Untouchables
Casualties of War
The Bonfire of the Vanities
Raising Cain
Mission: Impossible [rewatch]
The Black Dahlia

Somewhat interested:
Greetings
Hi, Mom!
Dionysius in '69
Snake Eyes
Mission to Mars

Not very interested:
Murder a la Mod
The Wedding Party
Get to Know Your Rabbit
Home Movies
Wise Guys
Redacted

Henry Gamble and Me

I don't think I've been floored on such a personal level as much as I have just been by Henry Gamble's Birthday Party. I wouldn't necessarily it's a great film, though it is impeccably crafted and marvelous in every way, only messy because it needs to be, but that pales in the face of how devastating, how close it is to my life. I am not white, I am not a pastor's son, my family was never OVERLY religious, I wasn't really in youth groups until this year in college, but it feels so real and true to my life. It is in the spirit, if not the letter, of the way I grew up, the way my mind was framed and how my self is struggling with my past. There is probably something of me in every one of these characters; my pain, my loneliness, my love, my annoyance, my confusion, my joy, and their reserve is just as important as their expression. I see these people around me and in me, and it almost makes me weep to see them hurt or to experience such liberation. A single tear, a single misguided statement, forces me to reconsider who these people are and as a result who I am. Questioning, Christian, a person who receives both Gregg Araki's Kaboom and a Christian book; I know which I'd rather take, blind as I am. I can't put into words how profoundly this affected me.

"Lynchian" vs. Holy Motors

Another useless director-related screed perhaps, but I'm not sure how many people will read this regardless, so here goes.

Holy Motors, is undeniably an incredibly varied, captivating film; if I'm not as taken with it as others are, I still admire it deeply for its ambition, its craft, and its world. That world, however, simply has very little to do with perhaps that most misused word relating to a director: Lynchian.

Lynchian to me (keeping in mind this thinking was formed by more than a few sources) means much more than simply weird or surreal; it typifies a mood or state of mind, one inextricably tied to the real world in which we viewers exist in. It is much more terrifying and provoking than simple surrealism because it reminds us of reality, and the quirkiness and subtle differences jar us and make us question ourselves.

Holy Motors, for all of its genius, perhaps wisely doesn't attempt this, and in essence forms its own, entirely separate world. Because it takes place almost solely from the view of Mr. Oscar, the surrounding world is seen through his highly performative lenses, and while it may appear to be simply a more technologically advanced version of present-day Paris, the continually shifting aesthetic leads the viewer to focus on the performance rather than the world around it. By no means is this a bad thing, and it works for the film, but by no means is Holy Motors Lynchian (aside from, perhaps, the prologue).

"Demy-esque"/First Blog Post

Decided to dust this old thing off/rechristen it, and what better way than with some grousing!

The trailer for La La Land was released today, and it was undeniably pleasurable, though I have a feeling it will fall into the long line of 2016 films (Green Room, The Lobster, The Nice Guys, very likely American Honey, etc.) that I felt I would either love or hate, and just end up liking very much, a feeling compounded by my growing ambivalence on Whiplash.

The trailer was of course received rapturously in The Dissolve and to some extent, on Film Twitter, which bothered me little, but one remark did strike me as patently ridiculous: that the colors were Demy-esque. Demy is of course very near-and-dear to me, and though the other person loves The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, I couldn't help but take offense to the comment (though I voiced little of said offense).

It may be that Gosling's presence affected my thinking, but if anything La La Land's colors remind me much more of the brash hues of Nicolas Winding Refn compared to the pastel lushness of Jacques Demy. True, the plot can be described as a hybrid of Umbrellas and Young Girls, though this negates the complexity of both, and some moments (a kiss especially) are reminiscent, but it feels dangerous to use such a monumental director's name in such an off-hand way.